No hockey this year.
Last year's experiment of buying private ice time so that they could safely beat the shit out of each other holds little appeal this year for Ben and Lochlan. They are listed on a local league as alternates but otherwise I do believe they will stick to beating the shit out of each other in the yard/kitchen/library/theatre sans blades. Possibly still with sticks and gloves, however.
***
Even though I have leveled a self-imposed embargo on posting here about wedding details, I will tell you this. Caleb's condo is officially listing this week. Daniel and Schuyler move into their new home November 2nd. They actually have four days to paint prior to that. Busy busy. PJ will be moved in a few hours, or as fast as they can carry his things up the hill so Caleb is aiming for November 4th. Then he'll be freshly installed in time for anniversaries and landslides.
I know.
And Lochlan is holding a grudge. I bet it's heavy. I bet it burns. He's warming back up slowly. I find myself following him, throwing myself at his mercy verbally while he shoots warning fireballs out of his eyes to drop it or he'll change his mind. While he is pleased to have a closer eye on me overall or maybe what will amount to permanent, ironclad supervision, he's mortified and angry and completely betrayed that Caleb is going to be living here.
And I understand but sometimes things are the way they are for a reason and we're all already irrevocably tied together forever so what the fuck is the point of schlepping back and forth downtown anymore? It's ridiculous and so I made a decision this time. Me. Bridget. The one who doesn't even get to pick out her own lingerie for the day.
I did something on my own and I'm fine with it. They will warm up, just as we all adapt and evolve and get used to things. Everyone in one place. Everyone within reach.
I don't know if this is the best thing. It's safer. It's more transparent. It's easier. It's better for Henry's development. It's reassuring, somehow and it's done anyway so they may as well stop trying to talk me out of it and start rolling up their sleeves to help Caleb move all that stuff into his new digs.
I'm kidding. He already has a service booked. I should know, I booked it. Right, not a moving truck, a whole planned operation. Thousands of dollars for white-glove service. For twenty whole kilometers. He's going to find it very interesting living in the land of real people again. Of course, maybe he'll hire a butler and blow my hopes for reality to smithereens.
Maybe he should hire a Fortune Teller instead and then he would see that his future has not become some sort of obstacle-free path back into my good graces, in fact, I'm hoping that instead he will now have a front-row seat to the only love triangle I care to validate. And maybe he'll see that you get more flies with honey than you do with hellfire. Maybe he'll come to all sorts of realizations and life will be better now.
Or maybe they'll all go back to playing hockey. Because the extra padding helps when you're in the mood to cause damage. And we have health insurance again so we can pay to have their teeth replaced.
